Twelve Fail Safe Ways To Charm Witches
by The Fat Chipmunk
Summary: While many may find it considerably odd that Ronald Weasley, of all people, has offered advice to his best friend on the matter of love, of all things, we find it safe to infer that Harry Potter is quite content with the results…
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Who, us?

**Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches  
**_Compiled and created by _jynkyg_ and_ The Fat Chipmunk

While many may find it considerably odd that Ronald Weasley, master of tactlessness, has offered advice to his best friend on the matter of _love,_ of all things (and in the form of a book, no less), we find it safe to infer that Harry Potter is quite content with the results of the use of said book. Messrs. Potter and Weasley have also encouraged and promoted its widespread use to all men in dire straits, whether he be young or old, experienced or not, tactful or tactless.

And so we come to present you with the second edition of this marvelous list, which now comes complete with tips and real situations designed to show you the true effectiveness of the **Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches!**

Note: Although this is related to** 101 Things **and **House Pride, **it did require a bit more imagination on our part than those two so we _are _taking credit for most of it. Anywho, we just hope you enjoy. Oh, and it's DH canon – or so we'd like to believe, but if you find any inconsistencies feel free to inform us. :)

* * *

**Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches**

_**1.**__ Compliment her sincerely and often. Every witch appreciates recognition for her skills._

Get those sexist views out of the way, men! Trying to be controlling, condescending, or just plain ignorant can leave you lying in the gutters. Your witch needs to know that you see, you care, and you are – occasionally – awed. Most witches are very capable in their own right, and they like that sort of attention and acknowledgement. It doesn't have to be a serious, candlelit ceremony; even a light, passing comment on their achievements, no matter how small, can brighten up their day.

_+++  
Ronald's Tip:_ Never insult her cooking, especially if rations are low.

**Saturday, October 2001**

All day she'd been sort of wound up and vague, like she'd overdosed on coffee that morning. She flitted in and out of the house on various errands, then came home and flitted in and out of the rooms muttering to herself and looking distracted. I'd wanted to tell her to relax and sit down for a bit, but she was in one of those moods where she'd more likely bite my head off than do anything of the sort.

I was even more bewildered when she sent me out of the house after a cursory lunch, without even an explanation. Grumbling, I went to the only place I could think of – Harry's. Ginny wasn't home, so he and I sat down with two glasses of chilled butterbeer to listen to the Tornados-Magpies match and discuss what was going on.

Harry reminded me that she had a big report due for the Department on Monday, and that she could just be stressing about that. I supposed it made sense, but it didn't make me feel any better by the time I decided it was time to chance a return home.

I wasn't prepared for what I saw inside. Hermione was in the _kitchen, _with the whole apron thing going on, and cooking up a storm worthy of Mum. Actually, the storm seemed to have abated for the most part; there was only one pot left bubbling on the stove, while the other dishes had already been placed on the table. Even the setup looked more graceful than usual.

Cursing Harry and his idiotic ideas, I quickly racked my brains to see if there was some important event I'd forgotten.

"Hello, Ron," she said with a smile, turning around as I closed the door behind me.

At least she _looked _cheerful.

"Is there…an occasion?" I asked casually as I sat down.

"Should there be?" she said, which didn't help me a bit.

I looked down. There was even a _tablecloth. _"It looks very…er…fancy."

"Fancy schmancy," she said, waving her hand dismissively. With a few more flicks of her wand, the bubbling pot carefully poured its contents out into two bowls and soared over to complete the dinner. The way her eyes were glowing as she sat down across from me was making me sweat.

"Well?" she demanded impatiently, taking off her apron. "What are you waiting for?"

I glanced apprehensively at her one last time before taking up my spoon. I dipped it cautiously into the cream of broccoli soup and slowly brought it up to eye-level.

I took a deep breath and put the spoon, soup and all, into my mouth.

I swallowed.

I blinked. This was…this was _good._

"Wow, Hermione!" I exclaimed, going in for a second taste. "This is great! I'm not even kidding."

She raised her eyebrows at me. "Does that mean you were kidding when you said the same thing yesterday?"  
+++


	2. Chapter 2

**Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches**

**_2._**_ Be aware. Be up on current events and learn the difference between feelings, emotions, and thoughts._

Witches are sensitive beings, right? They tend to think matters through and they have opinions on the things happening around them. This means that they're attracted to men who are as smart – or smarter – than them, men who have keen insight and a perception that will allow them to have intelligent conversations. Your knowledge of worldly matters will surely demonstrate your aptitude – and this means more than cracking open the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet.

_+++  
Ronald's Tip: _Don't allow Quidditch to absorb all your time.

**Wednesday, March 1999**

"Season tickets!" I crowed, ripping the wrapping off of Oliver's present. "Season tickets for the Cannons!"

"He figured you'd like it," Ginny said dryly. She and Harry had stopped by to deliver the presents and say happy birthday.

"First match next week," I said excitedly to Harry and Ginny, showing them the calendar. "Look at that. There's at least two each month until October!"

Ginny grinned. "They're going to kick some arse this year, now that Oliver's signed on with them."

Harry nodded. "I've heard they actually have a chance of winning this time."

"Over a century," I said, shaking my head as I flipped the tickets over and over in my hand, still marveling at them. "Last time they won the league was in 1892, back when – "

"Back when Aaron Corker was Chaser and Dack Rory was manager, we know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Harry and Ginny looked mildly impressed, but she just shook her head. "It's the only thing he talks about when the season starts."

"It was a brilliant team!" I said indignantly.

Harry laughed and put his arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Well, I won't say they don't have a good team this year," he said, "but I'm still rooting for the Harpies."

"So long as you don't go for the Tornados, I'm happy," I said, nudging Hermione in the ribs.

"Anyway, we're both free for the second match three weeks from now," Harry was saying. "We were planning on going with Dean and Seamus, so if you want to come with us…"

"Excellent!" I said, clapping Harry on the back. "Thursday, right? We'll be there!"

"I can't go," Hermione said flatly.

I turned on her incredulously, my jaw hanging open.

"Things don't just revolve around Quidditch, Ronald," she said sternly. "Just because _you _don't have anything to do doesn't mean everyone else is free."

"Come _on, _Hermione!" I said exasperatedly. "You've got meetings the whole week after, so think of it as a day off!"

Hermione had adamantly set her jaw. "I _can't,_" she said stubbornly. "I've got so many papers to file and reports to finish, and I have to get the crime files organized and submit it to Corwin Knickle by that following Tuesday, and I _just can't. _Maybe people like you who just go to Auror training every day for three hours wouldn't understand."

"Hey!" Harry protested.

I had fallen meekly to that tone of mixed accusation and finality many times before, but this wouldn't be one of them.

"Well, your loss, then," I said off-handedly, sliding my hands in my pockets. "I, for one, heard that Kingsley was going to the first couple matches with the French and Spanish Ministers, seeing as they both like the Cannons. They're apparently going to be discussing the new international security policy. Would've been great for you, I suppose, but since the rest of us don't know politics we'll just have to ask for their autographs." I turned to Harry and Ginny. "Isn't that right?"

They both nodded, their eyes laughing uproariously at the look Hermione was giving me.

"How do you know that?" she said dubiously.

I waved my hand airily. "Oh, I read it in the paper yesterday," I said smugly. "Evening edition. And I heard Kingsley talking about it with Mad-Eye and Tonks in the office the other day."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but she seemed to be reconsidering her plans. I knew I'd won this time, though, especially with Harry and Ginny backing me up.

"Well, all right then," she conceded. "I suppose it's a good opportunity."

"See? I do know more than Quidditch," I said.

"Do you two want to stay for tea?" Hermione asked, ignoring my comment.

"We actually have to get going," Harry said apologetically. "I promised I'd meet Neville at Hogsmeade by three."

"And Fred wants me to help out for a bit at the shop," Ginny said. "We're still on for Saturday though, right Hermione?"

Hermione nodded as she opened the door for them. "Yes. Outside Flourish and Blotts."

"All right. We'll see you later then!" They waved before Disapparating from the doorstep.

"Well?" I demanded as soon as she'd closed the door. "Weren't you impressed?"

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione said with a sigh, but she was smiling. "Terribly impressed."  
+++


	3. Chapter 3

**_3._** _Go out of your comfort zone. Be honest and don't be afraid to seem vulnerable sometimes._

Open up to your witch once in a while. Share who you are by telling her something personal, something about your life or your past that she would never have thought of you. Something that will show her how trusting and honest you are, or that you're a flawed but confident man. Women love to be able to share the vulnerable side of you. Besides, who wants a perfect spouse?

_+++  
Ronald's Tip: _Don't talk about an ex in a bad way to here. If you have to talk about an ex, do so in a positive manner and share what you learned and how you grew from the relationship.

**Tuesday, July 1999**

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" came her sleepy voice from my left.

"Hermione, why do you love me?" I asked.

She rolled over to face me, but it was still dark and I couldn't tell if her eyes were open or not. "Ron, you're only nineteen," she said drowsily. "You're too young to have your mid-life crisis."

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I just don't understand how someone like you could ever love a prat like me," I said quietly.

"You know how I hate self-pity," she mumbled, still sounding half-asleep.

I didn't say anything for a moment. Hermione didn't either, and I thought she might've fallen asleep again.

"I saw Lavender today," I said into the silence.

There was no answer, but she shifted closer to me.

"In Diagon Alley. She was by herself, just outside Madame Malkin's. She saw me coming out of the shop, and she asked me if I wanted to sit with her for a bit at Florean's. I couldn't very well say _no _– I mean, it's the first time I've seen her since we graduated, really, so I just went along. I bought her a cup of ice cream and we were just sitting there, talking about this and that, what we'd been doing.

"And I was listening to her going on about some shop she and Parvati opened up, and I found myself wondering, you know, _why _I ever fancied her. I mean she's pretty and all, but she just doesn't seem _real." _I paused for a moment, then added, "Not like you."

It was quiet again. I could hear myself breathe.

"I guess…" I began, but my voice trailed off. I took a deep breath. "I guess it was…you know, just for snogging." I winced inwardly at how that sounded. "But I don't want to say it that way because it makes me sound like…like this superficial _moron."_

Her hand was suddenly in mine, her fingers squeezing tightly.

I closed my eyes. "Did you know?" I asked softly. "I used to cry at night sometimes, when I was little and it was really dark or there was a thunderstorm. I'd moved into my own room by then, and it felt so big and empty by myself, with the lightning flashing all across the walls. I just felt so _alone_ there, like everyone was so far away, and Mum wouldn't even be able to hear me if I yelled because the thunder was so loud."

Hermione was so close to me I could feel her warmth. My fingers were tightly intertwined with hers.

"It's not like Mum didn't ever _not _love us," I went on, my eyes still shut. "Far from it, really. I suppose it was just hard to keep track of us all, having six boys running around. And with Bill and Charlie and Percy already at Hogwarts and Fred and George always wreaking havoc, I was the last one. Like there was nothing special about me that Mum hadn't seen before, and she knew just what to do for me when I needed it because she'd already done those things for the others.

"Is that why I went to Lavender?" I whispered. "Because I wanted that special sort of attention? Just for snogging?"

The question filled the room like an overblown balloon. Squeezing everything out except my attempts to breathe.

"No one can answer that except for you," Hermione said at last. She sounded much more awake than before. "Maybe you did. Maybe that's who you were. _I _don't care, at any rate, because what matters is that you're different now. As for your inferiority complex…I guess that can't be helped. It can't be worse than Harry's hero thing. All I can say is that your mum probably loves you and your brothers and Ginny more than any of you could imagine.

"And while I can't say I _enjoyed _watching you have your little fling with Lavender, I have to say that it wasn't all for the worse."

"It wasn't?" I said dubiously. I was surprised at how calmly she was taking all of this.

"I do suppose she made you a better kisser," she said nonchalantly.

"Are you implying that I was a _bad _kisser before?" I asked indignantly.

She didn't answer me.  
+++


	4. Chapter 4

**_4._** _Don't curse or hex other wizards who are less skilled than yourself to show off your competence._

While it may sound amusing to encumber a near-Squib with antlers or a pig's tail, all witches will recognize and recoil from your cruel streak. Although you may be entitled to a bit of pride now and then, don't act like Mr. Big-Man Hot-Shot all the time. And even though most girls value a little chivalry, don't imply that she isn't capable of caring for herself either. A woman will prefer a compassionate, humble man who will take care of her and others around her.

_+++  
Ronald's Tip: _Don't brag about the size and/or strength of your wand. If you can't conjure a bouquet of flowers, chances are few witches will care if you're carrying a 13" oak wand with a chimera hair core.

**Monday, December 2002**

"Ollivander's Annual Wand Check!"

It had become a mandatory thing for the Ministry's entire staff. Once every year, old Mr. Ollivander would schedule a week to set himself up in the Atrium to check the performance of everyone's wands.

Hermione had insisted that I polish my wand this time, but I forgot to do it last night so I spent ten minutes this morning feverishly wiping it down with polish while Hermione looked on disapprovingly. I'd also forgotten my coffee, and I was now in a rather irritable mood.

"I don't see why you're being so titchy," Hermione sniffed as we Flooed in. "It's _your _fault you forgot."

"Can I _just _have a sip of your coffee?" I grumbled, reaching for the cup she held in her hand.

"No," she said, holding it out of my reach and sticking her tongue at me.

"Immature," I muttered.

"Hypocrite," she replied.

It was relatively early, so the line wasn't terribly long. We got in line behind a weary-looking couple, her sipping her coffee while I tapped my toes and pretended to look groggy even though I was really scheming to steal the coffee.

But just then, a brawny, swaggering man stepped up behind us, completely ruining any chances I had of making this day any better.

It was Cormac McLaggen.

"Weasley," he said in his loud, booming voice – no different from the last time I'd seen him – and clapped me on the back.

"McLaggen," I choked out, for once glad that I didn't have a cup of coffee in my hand.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said with a grin. There was petite blonde girl standing next to him – his girlfriend, I presumed, since there was no ring. She looked like a ditz.

"Hey, and who's this?" he said, noticing Hermione and blatantly looking her up and down while his girlfriend looked on. She didn't seem to mind, but I was starting to question her awareness of her immediate surroundings.

"Hello, Cormac," Hermione said politely, smiling at him.

"I know you two've met," I said, trying to keep from gritting my teeth, and made the obvious movement of putting my arm around her waist and pulling her closer to me. "This is Hermione _Weasley, _my _wife,_" I said, clearly emphasizing 'Weasley' and 'wife.'

He didn't get the message.

"You remember when we went out a couple years ago?" he asked Hermione, grinning widely. "Christmas party, back in Hogwarts. Merlin, that was _wild. _Oh, and this is Lillian," he said almost as an afterthought, waving his hand in the blonde girl's general direction. She was too busy twirling her hair around her finger to notice.

"So you've been to these things before?" McLaggen went on, gesturing toward Ollivander's banner.

"Every year," I answered quickly, wishing Ollivander would hurry up with the people in front of us.

"This is my first," McLaggen informed me. "Check this beauty out," he added, proudly fishing his wand out from his robes. "Oak and dragon heartstring, 14 and a half inches." He waved it around under my nose, then displayed its smooth length to Hermione.

"Very macho," Hermione nodded, a smile playing on her lips.

I was saved from spitting out a rejoinder I probably would've regretted as Ollivander dismissed the witch before me and beckoned me forward.

I handed the old man my wand and kept my mouth shut, afraid that I'd say something moronic if I didn't.

"Ash and unicorn tail hair," Ollivander was saying, inspecting my wand through squinted eyes. "14 inches."

He turned it around in his hands a few times, muttering to himself, and then handed it back to me. "Some flowers for the fair maiden, if you will," he said, nodding at Hermione.

I complied, conjuring a bouquet of roses with a small flourish. Determinedly keeping McLaggen out of my line of sight, I gallantly offered the flowers to Hermione. She smiled as she accepted them, and then presented me with her coffee before she stepped forward. I took it happily.

After Hermione was finished we headed for the lifts; I dragged my feet and walked as slowly as possible, glancing back at McLaggen. I was secretly hoping he'd end up conjuring a bucket of bogies or something, but when his wand-flourishing produced a single, wilted hornwort for Lillian, I sprinted into the open lift where Hermione was waiting impatiently and then burst out laughing. She shook her head disapprovingly as we lurched upward, but she was unable to keep the smirk off her face.

"A hornwort," I gasped, clutching my chest in mock horror. "Did you _see _that? And he was so proud of his dragon heartstring wand, too."

"See, it's a good thing you didn't haul off and punch him," Hermione said knowingly. She raised the roses to her face and breathed in deeply. "These smell wonderful."

"I always thought he was a dimwit," I said smugly.

"Besides," Hermione added, kissing me on the cheek, "I like unicorns better than dragons."  
+++


	5. Chapter 5

_**5.** If you feel she may have several suitors, be sure to ask her to dance as early as possible._

Dancing is a very romantic concept – and we're not talking about Muggle rocker-type atrocities here, although that may be a plus if you're going for comedy. Most witches will enjoy the occasional excuse to dance, however short or silly – so pick an occasion, any occasion, and a gallant invitation surely won't be refused.

_+++  
Ronald's Tip: _Don't make her wait just because you know she will; you never know when she might change her mind.

**Sunday, August 2000**

We all knew – Charlie best of all – that Mum would probably have a troll if her second-born didn't pop the question soon. It'd already been three years since Bill's wedding, and Percy wouldn't get married before Charlie on account of tradition or something, which meant Mum was bored to tears sitting alone at home and she just wanted something to do.

Anyhow, it was common knowledge that Emma was madly in love with Charlie, and Charlie with Emma, and Emma was even willing to leave her home and family in Romania to live with Charlie in London, and everybody loved Emma to bits and pieces (even Fleur).

So it all boiled down to the fact that Charlie simply wasn't man enough when it came to…well, being a man. Fred and George ended up threatening to propose for him, which scared Charlie so much he went down on his knee the very next day.

So then Mum was happy again and Emma was practically floating around in her ecstasy and we were all invited, of course, me and Hermione and Harry and Ginny and all the woeful, extended family, and hordes of Charlie's friends and old members of the Order, and some random people George thought would be funny to invite.

Of which one just _happened _to be _Viktor Krum._

(Of course, that could have been Mum's doing, since by her standards nearly half of the Wizarding world is part of our family now, but _still._ I'd bet my salary it was George.)

So here I am, sorely sick of weddings and other large gatherings, though legitimately I've only been to two, and it's not just because of Mum's planning craze.

The ceremony went well – if Mum drowning out the officiating wizard with her sobs is what you'd call a successful wedding – and the transition into the reception was smoother than any of us had hoped for. There's roughly one hundred people jammed into our backyard, and while I can't say I'm not happy for Charlie, I can honestly say I'd rather be somewhere else right now.

Krum dancing with Hermione is not making things any better, either.

George and Lee had started the music as soon as the candles were lit. Charlie swept Emma onto the dance floor first, followed by Mum and Dad and Bill and Fleur. And then Krum, that sneaky arserag, stole her away while I was telling her and Harry and Kingsley and Sturgis a very funny story about a clabbert, a bundimun, and a bottomless cauldron.

I had to continue with the story as he led Hermione away, of course – would've been bad form to leave off so I could punch out an international Quidditch star in front of my Minister of Magic – so I merely spared a moment to wish him dead before going on.

And then, as my luck would have it, Hermione appeared to have quite a long list of dancing partners. They apparently included George, Lee, Krum, Emma's cousin David, Fleur's nephew Jean-Claude, Krum, Weasley cousin twice-removed Andrew, Krum, Charlie's friend Herbie, some fish-faced boy named Aleksander, and Krum.

Harry, on the other hand, had made it quite clear that Ginny was his, and his only. He didn't hog her, of course – that would have been unmanly in its own way – but he watched all her other dance partners who weren't family members with eyes like a hawk.

And now I was beginning to regret that I haven't made my _very intimate _relationship with Hermione more public. But then again, I didn't think I'd actually have to do that. Usually if a girl drops a horde of very precious basilisk fangs in the middle of impending doom just so she can run and kiss a bloke, it generally entails that said girl and said bloke are _off limits._

But no.

So it turned out that I didn't get a chance to ask my fair lady to dance until half past ten, by which time I was slightly disgruntled and slightly more peeved. I fairly dragged her onto the dance floor, nearly knocking over Auntie Muriel as I swept past, placed her arms around my neck, and firmly informed her:

"If you dance with any man other than me for the remainder of this wedding, I will kill myself out of sheer despair and jealousy."

She laughed and went up on her toes to kiss me as George began another song. "This does remind you of a past incident, doesn't it, Sir Ronald?" she said cheekily.

"I do not find it funny in any way," I sniffed, twirling her around. "I haven't even gotten the chance to tell you that you are beyond beautiful tonight."

"Well, I suppose it wasn't your fault this time," she conceded. "There _are _an awful lot of guests – "

"I forbid you to speak further on the subject," I growled. "I want you, me, lots of dancing and snogging and good music, and nothing else."

"Demanding, aren't we?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Very," I answered.

We danced long into the night, my arm around her waist and her head resting on my shoulder. Around midnight, as we slowly revolved around the dance floor, I happened to espy – with my delighted little eye – Krum sitting at a table with a bottle of firewhiskey.

Alone.  
+++


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the hiatus there. Thanks for sticking with us, and thanks for the reviews!

_**

* * *

6.**__ Lighten up any moment with a bit of humor._

Don't worry – you don't have to be a slapstick comedian to pull this one off. Everyone has a different sense of humor, so you can try out any number of things ranging from sarcasm to simple goofiness. Most witches appreciate just the attempt. Keep in mind that if you can make your significant other smile, you're off to a good start.

_&&&  
Ronald's Tip: _Don't be so sensitive that you can't poke fun at yourself. Remember, all embarrassing moments evolve into knee-slapping memories with time if you let it.

**Wednesday, February 1997**

It was so cold that week that everyone wore coats and mittens and scarves around the school. Dean and Seamus put on earmuffs during Transfiguration and claimed they couldn't take notes because they couldn't hear what McGonagall was saying, which of course nearly got them detention. But McGonagall's frosty glare was nothingcompared to the ice and snow outside.

So instead of going up to bed, we were still sitting in front of the fire in the common room, too warm and comfortable to even consider moving. Ginny had joined us a while ago, so it was just the four of us in the room.

Harry was filling us in about what had happened during Herbology that morning – we'd been put in separate greenhouses for a project involving alihotsy and snapping gorbellums.

"So Parvati was screaming – you know how loud she and Lavender can get – right in my ear, telling me to _'get this thing off my arm!' _only she was flailing all around and not helping anybody, right, and Neville's behind us probably about to have an aneurism because he'd know _exactly _what to do in this sort of situation but he's tied up with his own pair of devilish plants.

"And Sprout hears, of course, and comes running over – it was pretty funny, really – but right then I got a clear shot at the thingso I did a Repellant Charm – only Parvati chose the exact same moment to do some other charm and mine backfired. Missed Sprout by _inches _and shattered this big flowerpot – you know the one in front of the mandrakes?"

Hermione winced. "Was she very angry?"

Ginny laughed as Harry shook his head. "I still can't hear properly."

"Nice going, mate," I smirked, blowing a raspberry at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't be talking, Mr. I-don't-know-how-to-use-my-wand," Ginny scoffed. "Who's the one who pointed his wand the wrong way and blasted himself in the stomach with a slug jinx?"

"How do you know about that?" I demanded. I knew my face had turned red beyond redemption.

"Hagrid," she said, sticking her tongue out at me. She and Harry laughed.

"That _was_ pretty disgusting," Hermione said in a reminiscent tone, holding out her hands to the fire.

"Well, I suppose it was pretty funny," I said, leaning back and putting my hands behind my head. "Those slugs were _nasty, _though."

"Yeah, and remember Colin tried to take a picture of you?" Harry grinned.

"And no one wanted to touch you, it was so revolting," Hermione teased while Harry mimicked me vomiting.

Harry shook his head. "Of course it was me and Hermione who had to drag you to Hagrid's, right? And he gave you a bin or something and you just kept belching up slugs the entire time."

"Those were good times," I said, chuckling. "I must've looked a mess." I grinned at Hermione, but she'd suddenly adopted a strange expression that suggested I'd grown an extra nose.

"Was that the year Hagrid showed us his pumpkins?" Harry was saying. "Or was it flobberworms?"

"Flobberworms, I think," Hermione said, looking away from me. I couldn't fathom what that expression was supposed to have meant.

"And Hagrid said he'd just met Ginny 'cause she'd been 'looking around' the grounds, only he suspected she was just hoping she'd run into Harry," I laughed.

Ginny turned red as Harry and Hermione looked at me incredulously. "How do you _remember _that?"

I shrugged. "You know how you remember weird things." I glanced at Hermione again, but she was grinning widely this time.

"What are you smiling about?" Harry asked her.

She smirked at me. "I'm just surprised Ron hasn't been a prat about the whole thing, is all. It's very refreshing."  
&&&


	7. Chapter 7

Well, we noticed we hadn't updated in quite a while, so we pounded one out for you last night. Enjoy!

**_

* * *

_**

_**7. **Gold can't buy you love...but presents can._

A witch worth having will always prefer your company to extravagant gifts. Though you should present her with tokens of affection regularly, it is better to spend time than Galleons.

&&&  
_Ronald's Tip:_ Short on Galleons? Remember, handmade is always more appealing and endearing than store-bought.

**Friday, September 2003**

"RON!"

I let out a strangled scream as Harry's panicked voice jerked me awake, and I promptly banged my head on the coffee table. "Ow!"

"Ron, mate, I completely forgot – what in Merlin's name are you doing under the coffee table?"

"Sleeping," I growled, crawling out from underneath the incriminating object and flopping onto the couch. "Until recently."

"Right," Harry said. His head was bobbing nervously in the fire. "Anyway, I'm really sorry, Ginny had me at some bloody dinner with the mayor of – it might've been chancellor – I don't really know, but we got back near four in the morning and I went _absolutely _blank and I – "

"Harry!" I shouted, cutting him off. "Spit it out, man!"

"Oh. Yes." He shook his head and adjusted his glasses with a smoldering finger. "I was supposed to remind you that it's Hermione birthday."

I stared blankly at him for a moment, and he stared expectantly back. And then it clicked.

"Bloody _hell!" _I leapt up from the couch, suddenly enough to make Harry's head bob backward with a tiny yelp. "What time is it? What time is it?"

"Come on, Ron, let's calm – "

"_What time is it!"_

"Quarter to seven!"

"Half an hour!" I sprang to my feet and dashed out of the sitting room, down the hallway, and into the bedroom. I had half an hour before Hermione came home and all hell broke loose. I couldn't _believe _I'd forgotten to get her a present – Ginny had even warned me a week ago to get something in advance. Cursing inwardly, I grabbed my wallet off the bedside table and peered inside.

"Need help?" Harry's voice called.

I groaned. "Not unless you've got a couple Galleons on you."

"Sorry, mate," Harry's voice drifted in apologetically. "I took a bet on the Cannons last night – a dare from Eddie Bishop, of all people, couldn't refuse – "

I let him ramble on as I racked my brains. I had a total of one Sickle and three Knuts, which could probably get me a bottle of crushed dung beetles from the apothecary or a pack of gum, neither of which Hermione would appreciate nor find intellectually stimulating. And there was no time to go to Gringotts, buy something, wrap it, and get myself back home without looking like I'd run a marathon. I cursed.

"…Could just make something," Harry was saying as I trudged out of the bedroom. "Last time I forgot our anniversary I whipped up a bouquet of flowers made out of paper, you know, the what's-it-called – ogirami? Keiko from the Harpies taught me how to make a swan once – "

"Harry, that's _brilliant!" _I cried, and pulled out my wand. In an instant, I had scissors, colored paper, Spell-o-tape, paper clips, pins, chopsticks, and a myriad of other useless objects cluttered around me on the floor. I scrutinized the materials as Harry looked on curiously.

"You look like a little kid," he observed unhelpfully. "Except for your mug, of course, which – "

"You're not helping," I growled. "What am I gonna do with this?"

"How about a book?" Harry suggested. "Or…flowers? Flowers are always good."

"But _you _did flowers. And Ginny probably told Hermione about it, so she'd know I got that idea from you."

Harry sighed. "Fine. What else does she like? Chocolate? Books? House-elves? Books? Mittens? Books?"

"I am _not _making a book," I snapped, "and if you don't make yourself useful I'm putting out the fire."

"All right, all right," Harry said hastily. "Er…cats? You could make a replica of Crookshanks. Eating Scabbers."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, not eating Scabbers," Harry amended. "Singing? Like those music box things?"

I nodded slowly. It sounded good. "Only how am I going to make that in…" I checked my watch. "Twenty minutes?"

"Just make it a hologram," Harry said. "Get a little box, and then have it so when you open it, the hologram comes up. With the song, of course."

"A hollow what?" I asked dubiously.

"Hologram," Harry repeated. "It's a, er, Muggle thing. Kind of like…an illusion. A virtual picture."

"A virtual picture," I said, scrunching my nose. "Virtual picture…Crookshanks… All right, I think I can do that. Now be helpful and think of a song."

"A song," Harry mused, and proceeded to mutter and sing tidbits of songs under his breath. I shot a Muffling Charm at him before picking out a jewelry box Great-Aunt Tessie had gotten Hermione the year before last. Hermione was convinced Great-Aunt Tessie had it in for her and refused to put anything in the box, so all I had to do was fix the gold latch. Then I picked up my wand and conjured an image of Crookshanks.

I figured Hermione wouldn't appreciate my version of him, so I gave him less bandier legs and un-squashed his face a bit. Then I added a small, evil little rat wearing a flower on its head to the picture, and made Crookshanks chase it. The whole thing was a lot harder than I'd expected, and even after a solid five minutes of tweaking, it still looked like Crookshanks was being jerked around by an invisible leash.

"Blast," I muttered. I checked my watch again – I had ten minutes. I quickly added a touch of grass, a tree, and a sun. Then I un-Muffled the fireplace, whereupon Harry's rendition of _I'll Be Seeing You _made me cringe. "Sorry to interrupt your caterwauling," I said dryly, "but how do I put this in the box?"

"Integration Charm," Harry said, not at all deterred, and resumed singing.

I rolled my eyes and moved the box under the picture I'd made. I'd only done the spell twice before, seeing as it was a relatively new creation (Neville's, as a matter of fact, devised originally to make hybrid plants or something of the sort), so I shut my eyes, muttered the incantation and hoped for the best.

Harry suddenly stopped singing. "That…looks good, mate," I heard him say, sounding rather impressed. "And I've got a song for you."

I cracked open one eye. "What is it?" I asked warily.

"Let me do it," he said, pulling out his wand.

"Through the fire?"

"I've done it before," he said dismissively. A jet of yellow light shot out of his wand toward the box, which promptly absorbed it.

"It better not be – I dunno, _A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love _or something," I warned him."

"Would I do that to you?" he asked innocently. Before I could answer, his face disappeared from the fire –

– just in time for me to hear Hermione knocking on the door.

I hastily stood up and sent everything flying back to where it came from. Hiding the box behind my back, I went to the door and opened it.

"Hello, dear," I said, holding the door as she swept in.

"Hello, Ron," she said tiredly.

"How was your day?"

She groaned as I took her coat. "Don't even get me started," she grouched as she walked into the kitchen. "The Serbian Minister still hasn't agreed to sign the deal on smuggled goods, Archie's in St. Mungo's for at least two days because he cut off three of his fingers doing God knows what, and the Hit Wizards keep complaining about faulty brooms."

I stood in the doorway and watched her make a cup of tea. "Rough day," I said empathetically.

She sighed and shook her head.

"That's unfortunate, it being your birthday and all."

"Sure doesn't feel like it," she grumbled.

"Well, maybe this'll help," I said, and set the box on the kitchen table. I quickly put my hands behind my back again and hoped she hadn't noticed that they were shaking.

She eyed it curiously. "What is it?" She didn't seem to recognize the box.

I nodded at it. "Go on. Open it."

She put down her teacup and picked up the box. I held my breath as she unlatched it and propped the lid open.

My hologram popped up perfectly. Crookshanks twirled around like a broken marionette while Scabbers scampered back and forth in the grass, precariously close to the tree, and a familiar melody drifted into the air.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,  
You make me happy when skies are gray…  
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away…_

"Oh, Ron…" she whispered as her face broke into a wide smile. "Where did you get this?"

I could feel a grin stretching across my own face as I put my arms around her neck. "I made it," I shrugged, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"You _made _it?" she said incredulously.

"I suppose you think I'm not capable of such feats of genius," I sniffed, "and I am faintly insulted."

She didn't say anything, but continued to watch Crookshanks scuttle around to the song. I made a mental note to buy Harry a good bottle of firewhiskey tomorrow. Grinning to myself, I bent my head and kissed her cheek. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

She turned around to face me, holding the box between us. With a coy smile, she leaned toward me.

"You," she murmured against my lips, "are simply _amazing._"  
&&&

* * *

Song credit is _You Are My Sunshine _by Jim Davis, we think it is. Anyway, reviews would be excellent - and by the way, thanks for all the reviews for the previous chapter! 


	8. Chapter 8

Not quite up to par, we're afraid, but at least the hiatus is broken. :)

**8.** _Pay attention to the little things. Be considerate and show that you think about her._

Look for opportunities to make small gestures that show you care. Even a simple, "How was your day?" when she comes home from work and being able to listen to her are huge things. Offering your opinion on things she wants to discuss are pluses. Listen to what she wants, and be the one to ask her to dance once in a while. Women of any age are all about a man with manners – no one's attracted to a dope who acts like a caveman.

_+  
Ronald's Tip: _Keep yourself up to date on your surroundings, and remark on the changes.

**Thursday, April 2000**

She'd been going on for some time about how it always seemed that masculinity and idiocy went together, making no effort whatsoever to be subtle about her references to me and Harry.

I didn't know what else to say about the subject, and we hadn't had an argument in a record period of time – two months and four days now since I'd been keeping track – so I didn't utter a peep when she mentioned something about having a regular "girl's night out" from now on.

I still don't know what that's supposed to mean. Harry and I hang out occasionally, of course, sometimes with Neville and Dean and Seamus, too, but we don't do anything special. Listen to a couple matches, have a few drinks, that sort of thing. Which is actually pretty depressing, now that I think about it.

Anyhow, she's been making a big deal out of how she doesn't have any time to herself – which is absurd, since _she _calls the shots about her own job – and whenever she does she's stuck with me and Harry. My response to this, of course, was a meek and sheepish "Sorry," which she ignored.

So she went out yesterday night, dismissing my comment about, "Isn't tomorrow a work day?" with Ginny and Luna and probably some others. They all had the air of a woman intent on Napoleonic domination.

Harry was doing an extra shift for Kingsley, so I stayed home and watched some "reality show" on the new television Hermione's dad had gotten us for Christmas last year. I thought about calling Neville, decided it wasn't worth it, sulked for a bit, and then went to bed at ten.

She looked chipper and refreshed the next morning. I debated whether or not to ask her what time she came in, then settled for, "So you had fun last night?"

She smiled at me over her newspaper and didn't say anything. I frowned as I leaned back against the counter with my cup of coffee. I knew that smile. Something had happened yesterday night and I was supposed to know about it. The last time she'd gone out with Ginny she'd gotten…what had she gotten? Something new, whatever it was, and then she'd been mad for a week that I hadn't noticed.

So I had to notice this time.

I studied her, still frowning, as she went on reading the paper. There was that wicked little smile playing on her lips, and I wondered how Harry was faring.

Shoes? No, she'd definitely bought those in November – some crazy day for Muggles where they got up at three in the morning to buy everything for half off.

Clothes? There wasn't much to say here, since she was wearing her usual Ministry robes.

I was starting to sweat. What else could a girl change in one night?

Hermione shook her head as she turned the page, and a wisp of hair fell loose. She tucked it back behind her ear, and then I got it.

Her hair. It was _straight._

I said so.

"It's straight," I declared, standing taller in my pride.

She snorted, not even deigning to lower her paper to look at me. "Prat."

Later that evening, she let me listen to two matches in a row, and even joined me for the second one with a glass of wine. I figured if I kept this up, I could tell her how much money I lost betting on the Cannons last week without ending up in St. Mungo's.


End file.
